


We Have Time

by dangerouskindacool



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon-typical language, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daydreaming, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Headcanon, M/M, Roughhousing, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28236927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangerouskindacool/pseuds/dangerouskindacool
Summary: Mickey and Ian relax the night before their wedding. While winding down on the exceptionally quiet night, they begin to imagine their future together. Ya know, hopes and dreams and all that shit.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 5
Kudos: 66





	We Have Time

Feeling fucking exhausted after a 9-and-a-half-hour shift and taking the El back home, Mickey couldn’t wait to strip down to his boxers and pile into bed. He had eaten Sbarro in the mall food court for dinner during his break, so he could go straight to bed when he got home. Sure, 10:15 is a fucking pussy time to go to sleep, but he wanted to be well-rested for the next day. No bags under the eyes; he had to look great. No grogginess in the morning; there was no time. Too much to do. You only get married to the love of your life once, you know. 

Mickey curled up into the warm atmosphere of his comforter, and his fingers felt like they could catch fire from the sudden change in temperature. His feet, too, burned as if his flesh would melt right off. He pulled his blanket tighter around him and wished Ian would finish getting ready for bed, so he could hold him for the last time before they were Officially Family. One last time before Ian was His Husband. And the word “husband” resonated. Mickey’s mind became flooded with all the times he wished Ian were his husband. All the times he would have done anything to be tethered to him. Basic training, Ian’s manic trip to Indiana with Yevgeny, his stay in the psychiatric ward at Cook County Hospital, the military prison, Mickey’s time in actual prison, juvie, the Milkovich house with Terry down the hall, Mexico. But after tomorrow, nothing and no one will be able to break them apart. They’re going to be married. Husbands. 

And just as Mickey’s imagination started to swirl with happy scenarios of him and Ian spending all night talking, drinking, fucking, playing hooky from work just to spend time together, starting a family, enter Ian, looking more beautiful than Mickey remembered, if that’s even possible.

“Hi,” Ian mumbled with a half-smirk planted on his face. He slowly stripped off his sweater, jeans, and socks and tossed them in the hamper.

“Hi,” Mickey replied shyly, embarrassed, caught-in-the-act, completely smitten, as if he is meeting Ian for the first time; as if Ian has seen into his brain and knows all of the sappy fucking, completely anti-Milkovich plots circling around in his brain; as if Ian doesn’t think about the exact same things. 

“How was work?”

“Shitty.”

“Sorry.”

“Whatever, man. Come to bed.” Ian climbed over Mickey and under the covers, grabbing the waist of the man he loved. He buried his face in the crook of Mickey's neck and inhaled the scent that he had craved every second of every day since he was fourteen. His eyes fluttered, and when his lungs expanded to the point where he thought he would burst, Mickey crept his freezing cold hands to where Ian’s rested on his stomach and seized them, making Ian suffer the touch of Mickey’s icy fingertips. 

“FUCK,” Ian jumped back after being shocked out of his trance, but that didn’t stop Mickey from placing his equally-cold feet on Ian’s bare thighs and pinching his skin between his two biggest toes. “Can you stop fucking doing that?” They were both overcome by fits of laughter, wheezing, gasping for air. Mickey then lunged forward, placing his hands in any place that would make Ian squirm: armpits, neck, ankles, ass, while Ian attempted to and succeeded in tackling him and pinning his arms besides his head. He hovered over him for a moment, teasing him with the possibility of a kiss, before taking both of Mickey's frozen hands, pressing the palms together, and encasing them in his, rubbing his own two hands against the soft surfaces that spelled the words, “FUCK U-UP” in bold black ink. He opened Mickey’s palms toward him like a book and expelled hot breaths onto them before closing them back up and rubbing them again. “Better?” His question was genuine.

“Thanks.” Mickey was blushing, and Ian dismounted from his straddling position around his fiancé’s torso. 

Ian turned onto his right side to face Mickey, who just smiled before being pulled into a prolonged peck. A kiss that meant safety. A kiss that meant I love you. Mickey smiled and turned on his right side, too, draping Ian’s arm over him to form his own little cocoon made out of the love of his life. And it felt like there was nothing in the world except for them two. And it sounded like there was nothing in the world except for them two. 

“It’s so quiet,” Mickey whispered for no particular reason. Just to say something. Just to be heard.

“Yeah,” Ian breathed against his neck. “It’s weird,” and then after a moment, he continued, “kinda nice, though.”

“Yeah.” 

“One day, we’re going to have our own house, Mick.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mickey enjoyed hearing Ian dream out loud like this. He liked knowing that Ian thought about their future, too. “Where’s it gonna be?”

“Florida.”

“Florida, huh. You’re gonna be walking around like a fucking grandma with a big ass hat. Shit ton of sunscreen. I bet your white ass burns like a motherfucker.”

“Yeah, I think somebody told me that once,” he chuckled. Mickey smiled, remembering their days on the road, carefully omitting the part that caused him to drink himself to sleep every night in Mexico, knowing that the nightmare-on-Earth would never possibly resurface, starting tomorrow. 

Mickey rolled over, causing Ian to flop onto his back, one hand resting under his head and the other wrapped around Mickey, who was using his shoulder as a pillow. “What about you?” Ian craned his neck to look at his fiancé.

“What about me, what?”

“I don’t know, where do you want to live?”

“I want to live where you are,” Mickey confessed sheepishly after a moment despite knowing that Ian’s answer would be the same if the dialogue was flipped. He dragged his fingers over Ian’s chest, feeling the faint stubble of his chest hair. 

“No, like, the house is in Florida, but what about the house?”

“It’s … big,” Mickey replied, feeling kinda fucking stupid.

“Mick, you’re shit at this,” Ian laughed. 

“Whatever, fuck this.” Mickey put an end to Ian’s game. He knows that he shouldn’t feel embarrassed to open up to Ian about this stuff. Hopes and dreams and all that shit. Granted, he never expected to not be in prison at this age. Hell, he never expected to be fucking living and breathing at this age. Shanked to death in a prison cell for being a cocky motherfucker one too many times was a life that many should think would have better suited Mickey Milkovich. But then, much to Ian’s -- and Mickey’s -- surprise: “there’s a big backyard.”

“Yeah?” The excitement Ian had gained from Mickey’s unexpected participation in the game was incredibly obvious and made the pair blush and beam.

“Yeah,” and feeling encouraged, he added, “and a pool. An in-ground pool.”

“What else?”

“There’s a big kitchen, and we make pancakes on the weekend and eat them outside when it’s nice.”

Jumping in, with sudden invigoration, Ian added, “And a barbecue grill. And an outdoor speaker, so we can have our friends over for dinner and dance and swim all night.”

“And we finally live near the beach. And we take walks by the water in the morning. At sunrise.”

“Like you’ve ever gotten up in time to watch the sunrise.” Winding down from their game of imagination, Ian squeezed Mickey into his chest, cradling his head and the small of his back. “It sounds like the best life, Mick. I can’t wait to live it with you.” He lightly kissed the top of his head. 

“And we have a dog, too,” softly, Mickey continued. “But none of those little shits that those fucking yuppies wheel around in goddamn strollers. Fucking chihuahuas, fuck no. I want a big one.”

“Like a pitbull?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s its name?”

“Milo.”

“Why Milo?”

“I don’t know, but we have time, man. We have time to figure all this shit out.” They laid there in peaceful silence for a while. “You take your meds today?"

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a few weeks before 11x01 aired. Not to be self-important, but I think it may be my fault that Mickey didn’t want to get a job. If only I had known how willing he would be to “play hooky” when I wrote that line.
> 
> The line about Mickey getting “married to the love of [his] life once” was originally “You only get married once, you know.” I simply forgot about Svetlana and then hated myself for it since she was a key player in my sexual awakening.
> 
> Another thing I forgot is Ian’s broken leg! So I guess in this universe he does not have a broken leg. Oops :)
> 
> My favorite line from this fic was “Hopes and dreams and all that shit.” I kind of wanted to make it the title, but I’m emotionally attached to “We Have Time”.
> 
> Finally, this is my first fic that I’ve written since I wrote an April Kepner/Arizona Robbins Grey’s Anatomy fanfic in 2015, so I would really appreciate any criticisms. You can leave them in the comments, and I’ll definitely respond. I also just made a Tumblr, but I don’t really know how to use it, and I haven’t posted anything either, so ... Just please be gentle with the criticism. I’m fragile LOL.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> -Allie <3
> 
> https://dangerouskindacool.tumblr.com/


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